Missing Under the Mistletoe Page 6

  “When did you tell him this?” I asked.

  “He came to visit me a little while ago.”

  “Why did you think he’d get into trouble?” Marco asked, perching at the foot of her bed.

  “Because he said he was going to find out who hurt me and make them pay,” she cried. “And now he’s in jail for it.”

  “Nathan’s going to be okay,” I said and stroked her arm to comfort her. “The most important thing to focus on right now is your dad.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m afraid that my dad’s dead.”

  “He’s not dead,” Marco said. “Right now he’s just missing.”

  “I was so mean to him this morning,” Hailey said. “I told him I hated Christmas and I hated him. Now what if he is dead and that’s the last thing I said to him?” She started sobbing uncontrollably. “I didn’t mean it.” She hit her fist on the bed. “I didn’t mean it!”

  Marco immediately rose and walked to the window, keeping his back to us as he stared outside.

  “We’ll find your dad, Hailey,” I said, with one eye on my husband. “We just need you to answer a few questions so we can find him faster. Okay?”

  “He can’t be dead,” she wept, grasping my hand. “I need to tell him I’m sorry.”

  Marco abruptly walked out of the room without even a glance in my direction. It was so out of the blue, my first instinct was to go after him, but I couldn’t leave Hailey now. I sat beside her on the bed, gave her a hug, and promised again that we would find her dad if she would quiet down and answer a few questions.

  Finally, she agreed to hear me out. “Can you describe the woman you saw standing by the workshop door this morning?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t get a good look at her. I was too far away.”

  “But the elevator is right next to the workshop,” I said.

  She looked down as if she ashamed. “I didn’t go directly upstairs. I stopped into the shoe department to see one of my friends. I only stayed for a few minutes. That’s when I saw the woman standing by the workshop. Besides, we’re not allowed to use the elevator. I had to take the back stairwell.”

  “Why can’t you use the elevator?” I asked.

  She cracked a small smile for the first time. “Dad doesn’t like anyone using the elevator until he’s fully dressed in his Santa Suit.”

  Then Marcille had been telling the truth. The Out of Order sign was simply put up for Churchill’s use. Still, Marcille also knew that no one would be using the elevator, which still left her as a potential suspect in my mind.

  I continued questioning Hailey. “Do you remember what you told me this morning? You said the woman by the back door was holding something. Do you remember what she was holding?”

  She shook her head and sniffled, “I can’t explain it.”

  “What she was wearing? Any jewelry? Is there anything at all that sticks out in your memory?”

  “She was wearing a white coat.” She sniffled again, so I walked around to the windows to grab a box of tissues sitting next to her get-well-soon gifts.

  “She was holding something odd. It seemed out of place.” Hailey sighed in frustration and glanced toward the window. Then she saw something that made her eyes light up. “She was holding one of those.” She pointed at the bouquet I had brought for her.

  “She was holding a bouquet?” I asked.

  “No, one of those.” She pointed again at the bouquet.

  “The holly?”

  “No. Next to it.”

  The mistletoe.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mrs. Guilford!

  All at once the scene came rushing back into my mind: Mrs. Guilford standing at my register with her white gloves and expensive watch, holding a long strand of mistletoe, right before Churchill went missing. Now I knew what her mission was. She was going to meet Santa Claus for a kiss under the mistletoe. That’s why she was in such a hurry. She had to get there before he made his appearance.

  I thanked Hailey and promised her that, with her help, we’d find her dad in no time, which seemed to cheer her up. Her aunt arrived then with a bag full of clothing so I gave Hailey a quick hug and hurried into the hall. I met Marco just exiting the bathroom and looped my arm through his.

  “We just got a lead,” I said. “Let’s hit it!”

  Once we were in the car, I asked him why he’d rushed out of the room so fast. He patted his stomach and told me not to ask, so I dropped it, even though I knew that wasn’t the reason.

  “Tell me about our new lead,” he said.

  “She was in the shop this morning, a widow by the name of Amelia Guilford, one of the wealthiest women in New Chapel. I’m pretty sure she was having a fling with Churchill.”

  “Abby, if she was having a fling with him, why would she want him to disappear?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m certain she’s the key to figuring this whole thing out.”

  “Let’s go talk to her. Do you know where she lives?”

  “Nope, but I think I know where she is right now, and I know exactly who can help us find her. Park as close as you can to Bloomers and keep the car running.”

  He stopped the car in front of my shop, and I hopped out. I made a quick stop at the Bloomers booth to find Rosa positioning the pots of poinsettias while Lottie hung the holly and mistletoe. I thanked the ladies again for their efforts and assured them I’d be back soon before hurrying over to my mom’s booth.

  “Jillian,” I said, holding my side from running, “don’t ask questions, just come with me. I need your help.”

  My mom started to protest, but I cut her off, “We’ll be back in plenty of time, I promise.”

  “We still have so much to do,” Mom called.

  “Plenty of time,” I called back as I hurried Jillian across the street.

  “Woah.” Jillian popped into the back of the car and buckled in. “What just happened?”

  “We’re going to crash a party,” I said as Marco pulled out onto the street.

  “Oh, a party!” Jillian repeated. “What kind of party?”

  “Christmas with the Osbournes.”

  Jillian immediately unbuckled her belt, ready to get out of the car. “No way.”

  “Please, Jill,” I said, twisting around to talk to her, “it will only take a few minutes. We just need you to get us inside so I can see if Mrs. Guilford is there. I need to find out what she knows about the missing Santa.”

  “Amelia Guilford has something to do with Santa’s disappearance?”

  “I don’t have time to go into it right now, just trust me on this and don’t say a word to anyone about it when we get there.”

  “My in-laws are so not going to be happy with me,” Jillian warned. “I told them I had to miss the party to help at your mom’s booth.”

  “When are the Osbornes ever happy with anyone? You probably won’t even have to see them. Don’t they hire butlers to tend to everything?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she answered. “Just one butler. Abby, really, I don’t know about this.”

  “Come on, Jill. We aren’t going to hang around long enough to wine and dine. We’re just going there to hunt and gather.”

  There was silence in the car as my words fell flat. I looked at Marco then turned to look at Jillian. “It sounded cooler in my head.”

  After ten minutes of going back and forth with Jillian, Marco turned down the long driveway that led up to the Osborne mansion. Glittering silver icicles dangled from the massive oak trees that lined the drive, while large, brightly lit golden ornaments framed the entrance and portico, and a huge Christmas tree aglow with white lights filled one of the large front windows.

  “Fine,” Jillian pouted. “One drink and I’m outta there.”

  “Did you just hear what I just said? No drinks. Just get us in.”

  We were met by a parking valet dressed in a silver suit who offered to park our car, but after taking a look at the festively decorated ma
nsion, Marco informed the valet that he would circle around instead and wait while we went inside.

  “Marco,” I said quietly, “what happened to Team Salvare? Let the man park the car.”

  “You don’t need me to talk to Mrs. Guilford. Just go.”

  “Bah humbug,” I said, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind me.

  Inside the enormous foyer Jillian and I were met by a butler dressed in a black suit trimmed in gold who scoffed as we declined to shed our winter gear. He did, however, offer to point us in the direction of the ballroom, to which Jillian replied in the same haughty tone, “I know the way.”

  The mansion was extravagantly bedecked from floor to ceiling in gold and silver, the paintings on the walls had been trimmed with tinsel, and fragrant, beautifully adorned pine and fir Christmas trees seemed to light up every room and hallway we passed. It did, indeed, smell like the outdoors, which I found intoxicating, while Jillian made a show of holding her nose.

  The party was in full swing when we entered the ballroom. I stared around in awe, overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. A punch bowl the size of a children’s wading pool sat at one end of a massive dining table, with row upon row of crystal glassware beside it, and platters of hors d’oeuvres as far as the mouth could water – or rather – the eye could see.

  An orchestra at the front of the ballroom played Christmas carols, a fire roared in a ceiling high stone fireplace along a side wall, and smatterings of people were clustered all around the brightly lit, gilded ballroom. The women were wearing the most expensive clothing I had ever seen and the men were all dressed in black tuxedos.

  I looked over at Jillian who was ladling the dark liquid and letting it fall back into the punch bowl. “See,” she said with a look of disgust. “Warm wine.”

  “No time, Jill. Help me find Mrs. Guilford.”

  After circling the room’s perimeter, keeping well out of sight of Jillian’s in-laws, we finally spotted Amelia Guilford standing near the fireplace chatting with someone who looked very familiar. As I got closer I realized it was my ex-fiance, Pryce Osborne, the Second.

  Pryce and I had been the ultimate mismatch right from the start. He had attended private schools, spent summers in Italian villas, and not only ate foie gras as a child, but knew what it was. I had gone to public schools, spent a week every July crowded into a ratty old camper, and thought goose liver spread was something that happened to old geese. But while attending our first semester of law school together, I’d been so taken by the tall, debonair man that I’d ignored our differences and started dating him, eventually becoming engaged to him.

  It wasn’t until two months before we were to be wedded, after I’d received the news that I’d been dropped from law school, that the reality of our differences had hit. Instead of getting a hug from him, I got the cold shoulder – from both Pryce and his parents – and our wedding had been called off soon after. My sole offense had been embarrassing the Osbornes, who considered themselves scions of the community. They hadn’t liked me ever since, and I knew neither they nor Pryce would be happy to see me now.

  I nudged my cousin. “Pryce is over by the fireplace talking to Mrs. Guilford. Go find a way to distract him. Talk about something he’s interested in.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just go! You’ll think of something. You married his brother, after all. Talk about stock portfolios or sailing yachts.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just get him to talk about himself. That always worked for me.”

  Jillian’s husband Claymore entered the room then, carrying baby Harper dressed in a beautiful white and red Christmas gown. Claymore was accompanied by his parents who clapped for attention and then made an announcement about this being their granddaughter’s first Christmas. The crowd gave them the appropriate adulation and then everyone returned to their conversations. A group of photographers lined up in front of the Osbournes and the family began to pose as if they were royalty.

  I could see why my cousin was so eager to skip the party. I turned to tell Jillian, only to have her shove her vest at me and take off. I watched in wonder as she made her way over to Pryce, grabbed him by the lapel, and led him away for a family picture, leaving Mrs. Guilford all alone next to the fireplace, a glass of warm wine in her white-gloved hands.

  Sometimes Jillian truly amazed me.

  When I approached Mrs. Guilford, she cocked her head as if trying to place me.

  “Abby Knight Salvare,” I said, “from Bloomers Flower Shop.”

  “Ah, yes. Mrs. Salvare. How good to see you.” Her tone indicated otherwise.

  “I need to ask you a quick question, Mrs. Guilford.”

  “Yes, dear, your floral arrangements look lovely. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” She glanced around for someone else to talk to.

  “That’s not why I’m here, and I didn’t do the flowers for this party anyway. I just need to ask you a question about a purchase you made this morning.”

  I could see the wheels start to spin and then she got a knowing look in her eyes. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  I knew I would probably lose her as a customer but I wasn’t about to run the risk of Hailey’s dad being harmed. “I think you do have something to say, if not to me, then to my friend Sergeant Reilly from the police department.”

  She glared fiercely. “Ask then.”

  “You purchased a strand of mistletoe from me this morning, correct?”

  There was a burst of applause as the orchestra finished a number. She waited until it had died down before saying snidely, “I’m sure you have copies of your sales receipts. Check for yourself.”

  “I’m going to take that as a yes. And then you took that mistletoe to Churchill’s department store. Is that right?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t give me that. I know you went there to meet Levi Churchill for an early morning rendezvous.”

  Mrs. Guilford lowered her voice, her face turning bright red. “What do you want from me?”

  “Answers. I have several witnesses who saw you standing behind Santa’s Workshop holding the mistletoe just moments before Levi Churchill went missing.”

  “Levi’s missing?” Her eyes widened and her hand went to her lips. She was obviously shocked by the news. “For how long?”

  “You tell me,” I said.

  “I can’t tell you,” she said, lowering her voice, “because I didn’t see him this morning.”

  “I hope you’re telling the truth, Mrs. Guilford, because otherwise my friend Sergeant Reilly will have to take you down to the station for a little talk.”

  “Okay, I was there,” she ground out, “but I promise you I didn’t get to see Levi because someone was in the workshop with him. I could hear them arguing and that’s why I left.” She glanced around, clearly shaken. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to sit down.”

  The laughter and music seemed to fade into the background as I watched her make her way to a side chair near the fireplace and slowly sink into it, trembling as she placed her glass of wine on the table by the fireplace.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said, taking the seat next to her, “but Mr. Churchill may be in serious trouble right now and I’m trying to help him. So please tell me everything you remember.”

  She let out a shaky sigh. “I bought the mistletoe for Levi so I could hang it above the back door of his workshop. I wanted to surprise him with a kiss before he went on as Santa. It was just supposed to be a way to cheer him up, that’s all.”

  “Why did you need to cheer him up? His daughter Hailey said he was already in a cheerful mood that morning.”

  “He was cheerful because he loved playing Santa. But he was also dealing with a difficult decision and that’s all I can tell you, Mrs. Salvare, because I gave Levi my word.”

  “If it helps, I already know that he’s selling his building and hasn’t told his employees yet.”

 
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “How did you find out?”

  “I saw a letter to that effect.” It wasn’t exactly the truth but I still wasn’t sure how much I could trust her.

  She turned hear head toward the crackling fire, wringing her hands together in consternation. “Poor Levi. His business has been failing for some time because of rising internet sales, but he didn’t want word to get out to anyone, not even his children, about selling Churchill’s until after Christmas so that the celebration could go on as usual. He confided in me because he knew he could trust me. And that’s why I went there to cheer him up.”

  “Could you tell who he was arguing with?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Guilford turned her head to stare at the fire. “Even with the carols playing over the speakers and all the chatter from the customers, I could hear his voice as clear as day. He was very angry, angrier than I’ve ever heard him.”

  “Who?”

  She turned to look at me with fear in her eyes. “Nathan Churchill. I heard him shouting at his father and got so frightened that I froze.”

  “Could you hear what Nathan was shouting about?”

  “No.” She put her head in her hands. “They fight constantly. Ever since his mom died, Nathan hasn’t been well.”

  “If you thought Mr. Churchill was in trouble, why didn’t you call for help? There were plenty of people around.”

  “You don’t know Nathan Churchill, Mrs. Salvare. I was afraid of what he might do if he saw me. In fact, I was so afraid that I hid the mistletoe under my coat in case he came out. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

  “I talked to his sister a little while ago and she didn’t mention anything about Nathan having problems.”

  “All I know,” Mrs. Guilford said, “is that Levi warned me several times to keep my distance from him. In fact, Nathan’s the reason we’ve had to keep our relationship a secret. If Levi is missing, then you’d better believe Nathan had something to do with it.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, Nathan was arrested this afternoon for assault at the department store,” I told her. “So unless he was already released on bond, which I doubt, he should still be there.”